O demons of cruel chance ! (you) who while we follow * the firmament with lost voicesmake dance * (to violinsin revelry wanton) the human race ! down-wards tumbling down a hill * impenetrable as are such destinies . . . * destiniesof the dry folly shook as the olden kings (my Fool :ho !) while the still world sleepsunder the jingling stars . . . *so chime ye * ingot spheres which are our only music ! * to leavewith this our bitter daybreak so as the falsefemmes loll * in our bedsin these the dark deserts * of our history

winter *is with our deaths all undersnowed . . .while we went burning the ivoryhives * as * halosin the ashen orchards where the oiseaux were singing on the glistening branches . . . * O lucent limpid april dead ! * withthe snows glazing the silver shieldsof these the immortal argyraspids * who fly the lividdendrophori . . . * arbor intrat in the phase of Philocalus’ calender * to cut the perennial pine (the corpse of Attis) * in the woodsto be born with ceremonial care to the temple of Cybele * with fillets of sinuous wool wrapped while its branches so with violets * hung : (these the blooms upsprung from his blood) so smile once * more lamenting eyes !spring is here

the hall *of the gare Saint-Lazare is full with their odour * thyme * garlicof onionsof the orient * while they worship their god with such sole faith in their star (there the Magi) * while the womensuckle sons . . . they pray they wantto * make moneyin outlying Argentina * to returnone dayto the old country fortune full . . . * (an eiderdownas unreal as all ourdreams) some are staying here * in hovels lodging rich * with roachesrue des Rosiers * rue des Ecouffes we see themthese pale eveningswhile they stand in the streetto gulp the fresh air . . . * where like chess pieces they move around so rarely . . . * one familycarries a russet eiderdownas you * you carry your heart